Don't Stop Believin'
by John Bigboote
Summary: Another cautionary tale about being Angela (Also works as a Marie Kondo metaphor)


"_He is young and strong. There are kisses for us all."_

\- The Brides, _Dracula_

* * *

A dark and eerie calm hung over the spires of Castle Dracula. The dim gray moonlight washed the roof of the castle in monochrome, making the entire façade appear as if it was all intricately carved from the same rock.

Statues of fearsome muscular creatures crouched along the edges of the spires looking out toward the ground hundreds of feet below. Somewhere in the middle of all the snarling faces and the massive stretched wings, there was a more slender feminine figure placed on the roof. Concealed by the moon's glow and remaining just as stationary as the other figures around her, she was like the statue of a fallen angel joining the ranks of demons.

The girl revealed she was more than just a stone sculpture as she slowly shifted places. She adjusted her legs in a more comfortable position as she tapped her fingers against the long marble block she was using as her seat. Her short silver bob cut was parted in the middle and flared out into little spikes above her shoulders. She wore a small black skirt with a sleeveless black blouse decorated with white laces and lightly armored with an apron of brown leather buckles. Her waist and upper arms were left uncovered to show off her nimble and well-endowed figure. Her skin was as pale, smooth, and cold to the touch as a hollow porcelain doll's. The lower parts of her arms were draped in black bridal gauntlets that were long enough to double as death veils.

The girl sat silently on the edge of the spire with one leg stretched flat. The other was bent toward her chest so her skirt wrinkled upward, giving a side view of some of her softly toned hind muscles. The sight of her would warm a man's heart and chill him to the bone in the same beat.

The only things joined her on the spire besides the army of lifeless stone gargoyles were a pair of mischievous imps. The little black creatures floated on either side of the girl's head flapping their tiny bat wings and holding tiny tridents in their claws. They were small enough that they could sit on her narrow shoulders if their wings ever got tired.

"You must be Dracula's new pet," the first imp giggled. "I thought I smelled a new slab of rotten meat around here!"

The girl hardly acknowledged him. Her dim red eyes were fixed on the mountain range in the midnight horizon. Her painted violet lips remained in an expressionless straight line. She was waiting for something.

"You used to be that church wench who always gave us trouble, weren't you?" the second imp squeaked. "I heard you gave the mutt at the front door a rough time. Didn't you like the collar he brought you?"

* * *

Lightning flashed through the villa entrance behind Angela's back. Her pure white sash swirled at her side as she poised her body in a form that combined martial arts with dance. Her wavy golden hair bobbed lightly above her shoulders in the same timing as her movements. The torches lining the hallway made the gold embroidery on her blue and white dance attire shine like sunlight.

Her opponent growled at her as he crouched nearly on all fours. The wolfman's left paw extended a set of claws meant for tearing helpless little lambs apart. His right paw was clutching a chainmail necklace adorned with an ominous purple jewel; a welcoming present from the master of the house.

The grotesque man-beast roared as he charged down the dark hallway with Angela's throat in his sights. Angela flipped backwards and cut him off with a high kick from her white leather thigh boot. He dropped the purple necklace on the floor while he stumbled.

The wolfman took another swipe at her neck, this time managing to tear off her cloth choker and snap apart the metal links of her protective crucifix.

Suffering no more than a naked neck and the slight tickle of wolfman fur brushing under her chin, Angela responded by hopping over the beast's towering body. She used his shoulder as a trampoline and drilled the toe of her boot straight into his left eye.

The wolfman retreated down the hallway whimpering and holding the blinded side of his head. Angela crushed the evil artifact he left behind with one stamp of her foot.

The spell dancer sighed in reprieve as she brushed the sweat off of her forehead. She pulled a small flask out of her waist tassel and refreshed herself with a quick swig of stamina tonic.

* * *

"He wasn't my type," the silver-haired girl replied coldly to the imps. Her eyes remained focused on the mountains.

"Oh. But then you didn't do so well when you met the most hideous and depraved monsters this place has to offer," the first imp screeched as a taunt.

* * *

Angela's recovery was cut short as lightning flashed again through a row of tall curtained windows. Her eyes were suddenly drawn toward the open lobby doors on her right. Standing in a part of the hall that had been completely empty a second ago, there were at least a dozen young women lined up with their heads bowed politely and their mouths sealed in silence. They were dressed uniformly in short black dresses with white frilled aprons. Each one wore a small matching bonnet on her head. All of the seemingly prim and proper young ladies went by the name Persephone.

* * *

"They were just the castle maids," the girl said with indifference.

"But you found out how determined they can be when it comes to keeping the place tidy of annoying pests, didn't you?" the second imp squeaked.

* * *

The row of timid young women suddenly lifted their heads in unison so their eyes met Angela's. Their irises burned bright red as their mouths gaped open to reveal pairs of dripping jagged fangs. They each made a terrible hissing sound as their soft faces contorted like a snake's.

* * *

"They certainly cleaned _me _out," the girl said with the hint of a suggestive smirk. The leather buckles on her shoulders creaked softly as she tilted her head and stretched a kink in her neck.

* * *

Angela poised herself the same way as when she fought the wolfman. But she never stood a chance. The devilish handmaidens moved so swiftly that half of them were behind her before the fight even started. Angela only managed to throw a single punch before they grabbed both of her arms and took her hostage.

Her protective choker and crucifix were lying on the carpet several feet away. Her jugulars needed no extra preparation thanks to the wolfman's help. The hallway filled with her terrified shrieks as no less than three of the Persephones thrust their fangs through her neck and gnawed on her flesh like starved beasts.

The bright features of her blue and white dance attire became lost in a clustered sea of black dresses and bonnets. The maids' long groomed nails scratched the bare parts of her shoulders and waist as they fought over her like vultures. The nectar flowed out of her as if it had always belonged to the worker bees swarming around her.

* * *

"That's one way to put it," the first imp cackled in the girl's ear. "You got more than just a few whisks from a feather duster on your cute backside."

"I heard they were so desperate to taste you that they reined you up like a cow and drank you straight from the udders," the second imp slyly added.

* * *

Angela's wrists were yanked behind her back as she was forced to bend forward. Several of the ravenous handmaidens shredded the back laces holding up her bustier and tore the entire garment off like it was a crime for her to be wearing it.

Her chest swung free like a pair of plump melons sparkling with fresh raindrops. A few of the maids didn't hesitate to poach their fangs into the luscious fruit.

Angela's screams grew louder as the Persephones snapped and growled and feasted on her life force. Half of the crazed mob savagely wrestled over her neck while the rest went low and took their vengeance on her undercarriage. For being a constant nuisance against the forces of darkness, Dracula valued her body even less than most whores. Her veins were on clearance and everything had to go.

* * *

"Well, a good servant always makes herself available." The girl curled her lips into an alluring smile.

Stretching her spine upwards and back, she let the outline of her full chest bathe in the moonlight. The window on her reinforced silk and leather blouse was open wide enough that the imps could see part of something that looked like a freckle on her skin. If she took off the leather layer and let her cleavage out to breathe, they would likely see more than just a few dots.

* * *

Just as abruptly as the handmaids had started with Angela, they were finished with her. She flopped face-down on the rustic red carpet in a heap of colorless flesh and bright dance robes. Lifeless, topless, robbed of every pint of her blood, and covered in sweat that was quickly turning cold. To say she was spent wouldn't be doing the word justice. The castle hall's lavish genteel appearance was only a guise for hiding its true nature as a slaughterhouse.

The Persephones straightened their bonnets and giggled almost drunkenly over their sated appetites. A few dabbled their mouths with small white kerchiefs before slipping the cloths back into their aprons. One shyly hid a soft burp behind her palm. With whispering voices, they decided which one should have the honors of sharing a few drops of her own blood to help the sweet little rabbit start hopping again.

* * *

The glittery tips of the girl's fangs poked over the bottom of her mouth as she smiled. She'd obviously recouped some of her value since her mortal demise.

Her eyes turned toward the horizon when she sensed something. She glanced down at the dreary landscape as a speck appeared from the base of the mountains miles away. Her nocturnal eyes were as keen as an owl's. Her ability to recognize the scent of a particular individual's blood was even better than a cat's. The moment she saw him, she knew Trevor was on his way. He'd reach the castle within the hour traveling on horseback.

"I'll see you boys later," the girl said to the two floating imps. Something menacing lurked behind her smile.

"Master's orders. I've got a Belmont to kill."

Her wrists made a soft _tink _as a pair of sleek mechanical daggers extended out from underneath the laces of her black gauntlets. She vaulted off the edge of the spire and gracefully descended hundreds of feet through the darkness below.

* * *

_Author's note: This fanfic was inspired by the intercut fancy business restaurant / rental car crash derby sequence from Days of Thunder. ___The title was inspired by a thread on GameFAQs where we were talking about possible ways to end the final episode of Game of Thrones. _This version of Dark Angela is supposed to look a little different from the official version since she skipped wearing the brainwashing necklace and ended up getting turned evil a different way. She's still got the flared platinum hair and some leather cowgirl traits from the official version, but I wanted to give her more of a gothic noble look to go along with the maid backstory._

_Author's other note: I guess you could say she experienced udder distress._


End file.
